


The Ghost of You

by Brightest_Moonstone



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 18:04:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18287471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brightest_Moonstone/pseuds/Brightest_Moonstone
Summary: Prison was not at all to Cyrille Le Paradox’s taste, he had found his incarceration as a youth a loathsome experience and could only say that the second time around things just seemed worse.The ghost was certainly not helping.





	The Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IronicSnap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronicSnap/gifts).



> Snap sent me a prompt on tumblr and this happened XD
> 
> oops

Prison was not at all to Cyrille Le Paradox’s taste, he had found his incarceration as a youth a loathsome experience and could only say that the second time around things just seemed worse.

The ghost was certainly not helping.

The haunting had been unobtrusive if annoying at first. Small things, like items moving underfoot and low hanging objects falling or swinging down onto his head, now it was getting worse. His tray would fly from his hands at meals, more than once putting him at risk of severe bodily harm as other, bigger, angrier inmates would find themselves covered in Cyrille’s food. His toes permanently ached, he missed the simple ability to walk across a room without stubbing them against something. His bed shook when he tried to sleep and a piercing noise that it seemed only he could hear followed him almost constantly.

He’d ignored the happenings for a time, attributing the phenomenon to clumsiness and tiredness born of stress, then he’d seen Cooper standing in his cell behind him.

He looked much as he had the last time Cyrille had seen him, still clutching his cane, his hat pulled low over his eyes but spectral, see through.

There only for a second before vanishing.

At that point Cyrille really had to admit, “yeah… I’m haunted.”

It was certainly a unique problem, one that Cyrille was absolutely in the dark about how to solve.

 

“It’s a conundrum to be sure Boss.” The lone ally Cyrille had in this nightmare was Forrent, a twitchy weasel with no sense of smell who had cozied up to Cyrille in the hopes of protection.

Cyrille rubbed a hand over his face, trying to stay awake. Cooper’s ghost was determined to deny him rest at night and he couldn’t sleep during the day, guards took umbrage to prisoners napping in the yard and to his fellow inmates, a sleeping target was an easy target.

“Heard a… heard a rumour ‘bout someone who might be able to help with your situation.”

“You did? Who?”

“Prisoner in the women’s section. Word is she’s been transferred here while she’s waiting on a hearing at the Hague.”

Cyrille’s snout wrinkled at the mention of a ‘she’ and there was something else bothering him. “The Hague? The World Court is for war criminals Forrent.”

The weasel looked at him, one bug-eye twitching. “And black magic users.”

Cyrille sighed, how was some hedge witch supposed to help him? Then he caught sight of Cooper across the yard, swinging his cane in vaguely threatening arcs. He paled, “set up the meet.” He told Forrent.

 

The next day Cyrille waiting by the fence as a gator with stringy black hair and a gauntness to her that suggested too much weight lost too quickly sidled up to him.

“You the skunk with the ghost problem?”

“I am. Are you the witch who is going to help me get rid of it?”

“That remains to be seen Sugar.” The gator glanced around at the other inmates who had flanked around her as she’d approached the fence. “Candle.” She said holding out a hand.

A jackrabbit produced a black tallow candle, a sow lit it and a broad shouldered doe stood in front of the group a cigarette held between her fingers as cover for the thin trail of smoke.

“Hand.” The gator snapped, putting her own against the fence.

Cyrille did the same, shuddering slightly at the feeling of her scaly palm brushing his fur through the chain links of the fence.

The gator’s eyes were blank and unfocused as she blew the smoke from the black candle at Cyrille and began to mutter a rapid incantation. She abruptly stopped mid-word, snatching her hand back as though Cyrille had burned her.

She fixed a beady-eyed gaze on him, “you’re not haunted Sugar, you’re _cursed_.”

“What?”

“Cursed.” She said slowly like she was speaking to an infant. “You got the baddest kind of juju following you.”

“Can’t you get rid of it?”

She laughed, “let’s just say there’s history between me and what’s bothering you. And oh they must really hate you if they don’t realise I’m here. Y’all are going to need to an impartial third party if you want a banishment, I know better than to invite that kind of attention onto myself.”

This was not helpful to Cyrille, “what do you mean?” He demanded, clinging onto the fence so tightly he could feel the wire cutting into his fingers.

“Ruby, guard.” The doe warned.

“Hey!” One of the women’s C.Os called out. “What are you doing over there? Away from that fence.”

The gator cast Cyrille a wink as she sashayed away. “Good luck with your ghost problem Sugar. We’re just having a smoke here Officer, nothing to fret about.”

Cyrille sagged as he watched her go, what was he going to do now?

 

Forrent, as it turned out knew of one more option available.

“I didn’t… didn’t want to suggest him first Boss, cuz he’s… cuz he’s kind of a scary guy.” The weasel wrung his hands, winding his tail around his feet.

Cyrille was willing to try anything at this point, “scary how?”

“Well… uh.. I mean… You know… y’know about the anti-zombie laws from the Peace Accord in ’71?”

Cyrille scoffed. “School children know about those laws Forrent, what about them?”

Forrent swallowed, looking up at Cyrille with wide eyes. “This guy is the reason they wrote them.”

 

Two more days of bruised shins, stubbed toes and minor concussions passed before Cyrille was able to hobble into the prison library for the meet-up.

Dr Facilier was a lanky swamp rat whose thin black moustache and dark purple fur gleamed in a way that suggested easy access to contraband. He sat at a table, idly flicking through a book in the suspiciously empty library.

Next to Cyrille, Forrent was positively _quaking_. “Man up.” Cyrille hissed at him, Cyrille could appreciate some subtle intimidation tactics but he did not appreciate when they were directed at him.

Facilier looked up from his book at Cyrille’s approach. “Good afternoon.” His voice was smooth and unexpectedly deep. “You’ll be Le Paradox then?”

“I am.” Cyrille sat without waiting for an invitation, behind him Forrent remained standing, fidgeting nervously.

“Thought so. I could tell by the smell y’see.” He closed the book. “Henry go watch the door would you? There’s a good lad.” The lone prison guard, a young tiger who had been standing by the door stepped outside. Cyrille felt a creeping sense of unease at that. This was a man who got what he wanted. “It pays to have friends on the other side.” Facilier offered a toothy smile, he had a prominent gap between his buck teeth. “Now to business, I hear that you have a ghost problem.”

“I do. I hear you can get rid of it.”

“Perhaps. Do you know why this spirit is haunting you?”

“I killed him.” Cyrille said simply. “After going back in time to destroy his family legacy, kidnapping his girlfriend then betraying him and leaving him on a burning airship with a hole in time-space contained within it.”

Facilier did not appear phased by this explanation, “I have certainly heard of stranger hauntings. I think we will need to commune with this spirit before I try and banish it.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“Of course. And all I ask in return is that you owe me a favour.”

Cyrille sneered, “a favour?”

Facilier’s wide smile dropped for instant and he looked angry, “how do you think that I got to the top of this mud pile?” He took a breath and regained his composure. “What is power but the strategic exchanging of favours?”

The unease swept back into Cyrille, the rat had a point. He could, in theory ask Cyrille to do anything. Perhaps being indebted to an infamous old witch doctor who had made himself a lord of a maximum security prison wasn’t such a good idea. Perhaps Cyrille could live with the haunting.

A row of books cascaded off a nearby shelf and landed, quite in defiance of gravity and physics one after the other straight onto Cyrille’s had.

“Deal.” Cyrille shot a hand out across the table.

Facilier took his hand and shook it with deliberate slowness, “the deal is struck.” He said and Cyrille felt a rush of something that ruffled his fur. Taking his hand back Facilier hopped up from the table. “Shall we begin?”

“What now?”

“Unless you’d rather wait?”

Another book bounced off Cyrille’s skull. “Now is good.” He said through gritted teeth. “Now is good.”

 

They cleared a space, Facilier drawing a salt circle and lighting black tallow candles. “Give me your hand.” He instructed Cyrille.

Cyrille did so, and the rat _bit_ him _!_ “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Would you rather I shiv’d you?” Facilier asked shaking drops of Cyrille’s blood into the circle. “Now come stand beside me. The last thing we need is a mouthpiece for the spirit to speak through.”

“Isn’t that you?” Cyrille asked, nursing his sore hand.

“I am a bokor not a medium. I am here to summon the spirit to us, I am here to keep it from ripping it’s way free from the ethereal plane and becoming a wight and killing us where we stand.”

Cyrille inclined his head, “very well.” He said and reached over to shove Forrent into the circle.

The weasel stumbled, pin wheeling his arms. “Buh… Buh… Boss?” He said casting a worried look back over his shoulder.

Cyrille folded his arms, Facilier began chanting under his breath, there was a musical rhythm to the words and Forrent went ridged coronas of blue light shining from his eyes and open mouth.

Facilier’s chant ended. “What name was this spirit know by in life?” He asked.

“Cooper.”

“Cooper who haunts this man, speak and tell us your purpose. How might we appease you?”

Forrent spoke but it was not Sly Cooper’s voice that echoed through the library. It was a woman’s. “Return him.” She said.

“What is this? You’re not Cooper.” Cyrille spat.

“Cooper by choice.” The woman’s voice said. “Return our son and we will leave you.”

“Return? Son? We?” Cyrille spluttered, how many ghosts were haunting him? “No, Cooper is dead I’ve seen him.”

“Not dead, only lost. Return him to those who love him, return him and we will free you.”

“There’s nothing I… I don’t even know where he is!”

“Egypt. In the valley of the Kings.”

Cyrille looked at Facilier, “how can she possibly know that?”

“Ghosts are tethered by emotional attachment, what is time to a being which exists beyond it? If her son is her tether then of course she would know where or when he was.” Facilier made a careless gesture with his hand as though this was the most basic of knowledge and Cyrille a fool for not knowing.

Cyrille grunted looking back to the ghost, “what do you expect me to do about it? Even if he is alive, I can’t do anything from in here.”

Forrent made a rattling, gasping sound and the blue light faded. He blinked for a second looking around confused. Then with another rush of light a new voice spoke through him. A man this time.

“Pass the message to those who love him. Return our son.”

“What message?” He was being haunted by Sly Cooper’s parents, lost in time and even from beyond the grave Coopers found ways to make his life difficult.

“Tell them he is after the first, but before the vault.”

Cyrille looked at Facilier, who shrugged. “What does that even mean?”

“Pass the message to those who love him. Return him.”

“What, so he can get a happily ever after epilogue, whilst I am left in here to rot? I think not. The sole comfort I have in this hell hole is knowing that Cooper is gone.”

That was perhaps the wrong thing to say to the vengeful ghosts of Sly Cooper’s parents. An unearthly shrieking filled the room and books began flying off the shelves circling them like a tornado.

Forrent’s possession swapped again and the woman’s voice spoke, deeper and echoing. “Return him.” She commanded. “Return our son or we shall remain. Return him or there shall be no respite. Return him or you shall long for the mercy of joining us.”

Facilier began chanting again, behind them the chairs and tables rattled as they rose into the air. The tornado of books and furniture began to tighten.

“Do something.” Cyrille yelled ducking a chair leg.

“Agree.” Facilier yelled back.

Cyrille warred with that, he could let Cooper stay in lost ancient Egypt because if he did then Cyrille had still won. But was a victory worth two angry ghosts tormenting him for the rest of his life?

“Le Paradox now _!_ ”

And, coward at heart, Cyrille caved. “Alright, fine I’ll do it.” The tornado died, items falling back to the ground with a tremendous crash. “I’ll do it. Maybe that harridan of his will be able to cut me a deal for the information.”

“No.” Cooper’s mother spoke. “You will do this and you will ask nothing in return. We free you, that is your only reward.”

“You can’t be serious?!?!”

The fallen items on the ground began to rattle ominously.

“Take it from someone who knows.” Facilier muttered. “Ghosts are single minded entities, they fixate. So if I were you I would. _Stop. Trying. To. Argue_.”

With effort Cyrille held his tongue.

“You will pass the message. You will return our son.”

“After the first but before the vault.” Cyrille muttered. “Whatever that means.”

“They will know. They will find him.” And the woman’s spirit left Forrent’s body with a sound like a sigh and a rush of blue light.

The silence hanging in the library was eerie in her wake.

Forrent fell on his tail, blinking and dazed, “is it over?” He asked.

Cyrille and Facilier surveyed the overturned room.

“Almost.” Cyrille said, “almost.”

 

Inspector Carmelita Fox looked, terrible frankly. Absolutely terrible.

She’d been skinny the last time Cyrille had seen her, now she looked positively skeletal. She also looked furiously angry but then again she always looked like that.

She sat on the other side of the glass partition, arms folded, one foot tapping aggressively. “What do you want Le Paradox?” She glowered at Cyrille. “You’ve declined all my other interviews.”

She’d come every week at first, each time Cyrille had refused to see her. Finally she’d given up.

“I have information about Cooper.”

That got her attention, her shadowed eyes widening. “What?”

“I have something to tell you about where he is, as well as when.”

Her eyes narrowed. “why are you coming forward with this now?”

“Because I have only just come into possession of it.”

“How?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Cooper’s dead parents cursed me and threatened to destroy me by attrition if I didn’t tell you where to find him.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

Cyrille shrugged, “be that as it may. I am fulfilling my end of the bargain by telling you this.”

“And what do you want for it?”

Cyrille opened his mouth, ready to ask for more freedoms, the luxuries he craved but before he could speak he saw a woman standing behind the Inspector. A raccoon , in a jumper and jeans staring at Cyrille with such intensity that it felt like she was looking into his soul. And behind Cyrille, reflected in the glass was Cooper, except not Sly Cooper Cyrille knew now but Cunning.

“Le Paradox?” Fox frowned at him. “What is it?” She looked over her shoulder following Cyrille’s gaze.

“Nothing.” Cyrille gasped. “Nothing, I want nothing.”

Fox swivelled back in her seat, “nothing?”

“I offer this freely.” Cyrille said, still staring wide eyed at the spectre of Cooper’s mother. “Don’t ask me what this means but I was told to tell you that Cooper is in Egypt in the Valley of the Kings. And he is ‘after the first but before the vault’.”

The gibberish seemed to mean something to the Inspector because something that looked a lot like hope bloomed in her eyes. “Egypt?”

“Yes.”

“Before the vault?”

“That is what I was told.”

She leapt from her seat, “guard.” She called and was gone and out the door before the buzzer had even finished sounding.

And to Cyrille’s amazed relief the ghosts stopped staring at him and drifted out after the Inspector.

Cyrille let out a breath, he sincerely that this would be the last he saw of any Coopers, dead or otherwise.

 

A guard escorted Cyrille back to his cell, as he unlocked Cyrille’s cuffs the old wolf leaned down to whisper. “Doctor Facilier wishes to remind you that you owe him a favour.” He offered Cyrille a grin backing out of the cell.

As the door clanged shut Cyrille wondered, if perhaps he had been better off with the ghosts after all.


End file.
